


Would You Get Behind Them If You Could Only Find Them

by Anonymous



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Thighs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 07:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: His baby's got legs...
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 264
Collections: Anonymous





	Would You Get Behind Them If You Could Only Find Them

**Author's Note:**

> (well, AO3 is being worse than usual about my formatting and has removed all my double spacing, indentations, and italics, so it might be a while before it's fully fixed but I went in and did all the spacing manually so it would at least be readable)

The thing about getting Eddie back is, there’s no one thing about getting Eddie back, it’s everything. The way Eddie looks at him is everything, the way Eddie says his name, the way Eddie laughs and the light in his eyes… Eddie, alive and his, after everything. Eddie, who came to recover in Richie’s house in the hills.

A few people know, the people who know Richie the best, who see past the cover story, past the ‘boyhood chum in a rough spot’, who know Eddie isn’t staying in any guest bedroom. Their fellow Losers, of course. But most people don’t know— most people don’t look that close, they just need a plausible thing to believe instead, and it’s fine.

California suits Eddie. He doesn’t tan, and he has a pretty good tirade about the dangers of overdoing sun exposure, but he gets a little color to him just the same, looks a little healthier when he’s slathered in sunscreen by the side of Richie’s pool. Richie’s treadmill is still acting as a clothes rack, but Eddie uses the stationary bicycle, goes from a cautiously-paced three minutes to a more vigorous ten, goes from once a week to every day, goes from physical therapist-recommended low- and no-impact exercises in the pool to learning how to swim with one arm, same as he’s been re-learning everything else. A few short and happy months and he’s gone from relying on Richie to being as independent as he was before… well, Before.

All right, maybe talking about how independent he was Before Derry isn’t saying much, but still.

And Richie has been with him every step of the way, doing his best to offer support and encouragement without smothering him. The last thing Eddie needs is someone who smothers him. But Richie thinks he’s hit something good with it, and Eddie’s been happy with him. He’s been there to offer praise for Eddie’s hard work, comfort when he’s needed to mourn what was taken from him, commiseration on sleepless, nightmare-filled nights. And then, they’d worked out the reward system, and that’s when Eddie had really flourished. Praise had been great, and Richie doesn’t think he could stop giving it, when everything Eddie is is praiseworthy, but…

It had started with a bribe, back when Eddie had been a shut-in beyond doctor’s appointments— Richie had begged and wheedled and promised to take him to Spago, if he’d just let himself be out of the house and around people again for one evening. He’d knelt at his feet and kissed his hand and told him it would be fine, that he wouldn’t let something bad happen to him now, that if people stared, he could just imagine they were staring at Richie, who was on a couple of billboards, after all.

And just like that, they were at Spago, because Eddie had a taste for the finer things, had been used to wearing nice clothes and going to nice places in his old life, and he’d shoved that down under about fifteen layers of clown trauma and body issues. Losing an arm will do that to a man.

And from Spago came other places, and it got easier. Richie talked Eddie into going with him to a nice menswear place, bought him a pair of silver cufflinks on that trip, a tie at another shop on another day. Eddie has his own money, and it’s nothing to sneeze at— Eddie contributes to things and takes some personal satisfaction in budgeting their household— but Richie likes buying him things, treating him to thinks. Especially when it means Eddie feels more comfortable taking a ‘risk’ like going out where people may or may not gawk at him, like socializing, having fun, making LA his new home— not just Richie’s house, but the city.

He rewards him for other things. Lengthy massages when Eddie’s met or exceeded his physical therapist’s goals. His favorite home-cooked meals or takeout when he’s had difficult phone calls to face and just needs to stay in— whether it’s to do with his divorce or his business, and the question of whether he can expand to be bi-coastal without sinking himself. Worshiping his body with praise and kisses when he can stand to look at himself in the mirror, missing arm and all. When he comes home from work, his life revolves around Eddie, and it hadn’t been long before Eddie was volunteering information rather than leaving it to Richie to notice when he was there, being honest with him instead of trying to hide any struggles, trusting that Richie would take his vulnerability and treat him right.

It’s not easy, and Richie knows that better than anyone. Richie’s never been good at being himself, he always made up a series of other people he could be instead. It had been his own inclination, at first, to shrug off the times he woke up with an unvoiced scream in his throat, or tears running down his face, to tell Eddie everything was fine when it wasn’t. It had been hard to talk about it, but worth the agony of admitting his weaknesses, to have Eddie cup his cheek and look into his eyes and promise him the real nightmare was over.

It’s still hard. He’s conscious of needing too much, when Eddie is the one who should get to need things more. And in some ways it’s easy, because all he really needs is to get to lavish Eddie in love and affection, all he needs is to get to be the one to make Eddie laugh until he shoves at him and tells him to stop, until Eddie’s ribs ache and so Richie is permitted to kiss him in apology. All he needs is to make Eddie happy, and to get to watch him grow into his healthiest, best self. No special requests needed.

Except now.

Because now, Eddie is relaxed and happy so much more often, is comfortable in the bedroom baring his body to Richie with no hesitation— is confident, even. Because now, Eddie is relaxing under his daily massage, having done his ten minutes on the stationary bicycle, and his thighs are trembling just a little under Richie’s hands, and they’re toned and strong, but the skin is so soft. So smooth, right there, up in the inner thigh where the hair is at its finest, and Richie can push his fingers up under the hem of the shorts he does his daily exercising in, just to revel in it.

“Rich…” Eddie groans and shifts on the bed, stretches his arm up over his head and arches his back for just a moment, and the massages are always nice but they don’t usually lead to sex… This time, though, Eddie’s cock is definitely filling out just a little.

“Yeah, baby?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Same thing I’m always thinking about.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Eddie laughs at him, reaches up for him. He leans in close enough to have his hair gently tugged at, and then in close enough to be kissed. “I really want you, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie smiles at him, full of warmth. And just a little heat.

“Oh? And what should I call you?” Richie kisses him again, nips at his lower lip, along his jaw. “Honey? Baby? Sweet cheeks?”

“Richie!”

“Love of my life? Sexy? Kitten? Turtledove?”

“You’re not very funny.” He giggles.

“No, I’m not.” Richie lifts his head from where he’s trailed kisses between each endearment. “Babe? Eddie my love? Hot stuff? Sweetheart? Uh…”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“No, I’ve got more, mon amour. Eddikins? Eddie-Teddy? My golden boy? Sugar? Darlin’? Tiger? Is Eds starting to look better yet, or shall I keep going?”

“You know you can call me anything.” Eddie’s voice is soft, something brimming behind his eyes, a long-withheld honesty. “I’ve never… I never really wanted you to stop. I think I’d pitch a fit if anyone else started using it, but when it was us— when it was ours…”

“Yeah.” He drops a kiss to Eddie’s breastbone, breathes in the sweat soaking into his shirt. He doesn’t think he’s ever cared about the scent of someone like this before, but as with everything else, it’s… it’s Eddie, alive and strong and healthier every day, in his home and in his bed.

“It made me ours. Yours… and my own. I was never my own before. I wish I hadn’t forgotten that I was my own.” Eddie cups his cheek. “I wish I hadn’t forgotten that I was yours.”

“We’re ours again now.”

“I remember the funniest little things sometimes… I remember the funniest little things, and I wish…”

“Hey.” Another kiss, a long nuzzle. “Tell me what you wish for now.”

“All you ever do is ask me what you can do for me.”

“Yup.” Richie grins. “What can I do for you?”

He gives Eddie’s waistband a slight tug, and when Eddie shifts to make it easy for him, he gets to work undressing him, leaving kisses everywhere he’s missed.

“You’re doing it right now.” Eddie chuckles, ruffling his hair again. “Really, Rich— Richie!-- Can’t I do something for you? Isn’t there— Aren’t there things you want? You’re always spoiling me…”

He meets Eddie’s eyes, lets himself be lost in them a little. The nice thing about getting lost with Eddie is knowing he’ll always be found. Always be guided home.

“Eddie Kaspbrak, you have no idea.” He says, voice low, as he spreads Eddie’s thighs once more, runs his hands up between them to feel the heat of him and the silkiest little spot. “I will do anything to get you off, okay, I will do anything you want, everything you want… if I can have one little thing from you.”

“You can have everything from me. You’ve earned it. You really do take such good care of me. And you know I like it, too…” Eddie’s face goes crimson, his smile so sweet. “When you… when we… If that’s all you want. You know I like it, too.”

Richie shakes his head. “Not this time. I mean… that’s the one thing I— If you wanted me to do that, you’d have to wait a while. Your thighs.”

“What about my thighs?”

“I really want to fuck your thighs.” He admits it in a rush, feels his own face heat. “I want you to hold them tight together and I want to fuck between them. It’s just… every day after the bike, I rub you down, and your skin’s so soft. And I feel how strong you’re getting, and I see you in your little workout shorts, and then I see you by the pool in that itty bitty bathing suit, and I see you walking around the house in my shirts in the morning and nothing else, and Eddie, you have… you have the nicest legs.”

“You really—?”

“Oh, I really.” He nods. Eddie swallows, Richie watches the bob of his throat, before he lets his eyes keep trailing down his body, back down to his spread thighs. “I watch you coming to life here, with me, and I just want everything with you, but your legs have been driving me crazy.”

“I never think about it like that.” Eddie admits. “How I look. How you— how you might… I just— it’s what’s comfortable to work out in, and swim in, and when I’m here with just you I don’t have to think about how anyone else might see me. And I like your shirts. But I didn’t mean to turn you on. I mean— I’m not sorry I have.”

He hooks one leg around Richie, draws him in and kisses him.

“You take really good care of me, Richie Tozier.” He murmurs against Richie’s lips, when they come close to parting from it. “And you can have me any way you want me.”

“Baby, I promise… I promise I always will. And I promise you’re going to feel good, too.”

He sheds his own clothes, grabs for the lotion again. It smells vaguely sweet, and he doesn’t rub it all the way in this time, slathers too much on Eddie’s inner thighs before positioning them back together. Takes his time kissing Eddie’s chest and belly, teasing him with the promise of a future blowjob that he doesn’t yet follow through on— and teases himself with a couple of pumps, both to get some lotion on himself, and to get just hard enough to start. To push between Eddie’s thighs into the tight space created for him, tight enough to feel the firmness of the muscle.

“You feel so good… you’re so hot and you feel so good.” He groans, rolling his hips, feeling Eddie’s body beneath his. And he loves feeling Eddie’s body beneath his, more than he ever thought he could. Not that he didn’t enjoy sex before he was having it with Eddie, he’d considered it one of the great pleasures in life, sort of. It might have been missing a little something, but that little something was never enough to turn him off the experience. He’d had a lot of it, and he’d had it on good authority that he was good at it, he’d prided himself on that, knowing it wasn’t just his own rocks he was getting off.

It feels weird to be doing something designed for his pleasure alone, the way that this is, but Eddie had told him he could, Eddie had told him yes, Eddie hadn’t even made demands in return, Eddie knows the kind of lover he is… and he’ll make good after he gets his.

And Eddie… Eddie’s a whole new something special. Eddie is his world like this. There are things that feel right with Eddie, ways that caring for him feel right. He wants to do things for him not because he sees Eddie as helpless, or wants to make him that way, but for how helpless he feels when he looks at him and sees him and struggles under wave after wave of love for him, and the only way to keep his head above water is to do anything to show how he cares. To fall to his knees and kiss his way up to a blowjob, to wash his hair in the shower, to cook for him, give him things, take him places, serenade him, touch him, please him, thrill him, amuse him… he’d never walk over him or take away Eddie’s chances to take care of himself, he’s more than happy to watch Eddie do things for himself that he couldn’t do before, it’s just…

It’s how small he is, how cute, even after twenty five years, how cute… and it’s how delicate he looks and how sturdy he feels. How when they first left the hospital and left Derry, he was so afraid of hurting him and now he can feel how strong he is, the power in his lithe frame… the intoxicating strength of Eddie Kaspbrak and how he still lets Richie scoop him up and move him around and fuck him and fuck with him because he loves that. He loves pinning Eddie down to the bed and feeling how strong he is when he pushes back, and he’s gone on the knowledge that Eddie isn’t pushing as hard as he could because he doesn’t want to get out from under him, ever.

Eddie wants him and lets him, and he can’t get enough of feeling that, knowing that. He can’t get enough of Eddie, he’s watched his muscle tone develop over his months of PT, watched him rediscover that he loves moving his body, that he’s strong and capable and swift, that he can push himself and not lose his breath, not hurt himself, and he can’t contain how much it makes him feel, to be a part of his life as he recovers and grows. To be the man Eddie trusts and wants. To feel the way Eddie’s smaller body fits against his own, beneath his own…

“You’re so strong and it’s so sexy…” He continues, can feel the rebounding of his own hot breath as he whispers into Eddie’s ear, as he noses at his temple and breathes in the scent of his hair, sweat and cucumber shampoo. “You’re so perfect for me, I don’t know what I ever did without you…”

“I wish—” Eddie gasps, as Richie sucks at his throat.

“Yeah.”

“I wish…”

“It’s yours.”

“It’s not something you can do.” Eddie laughs, wraps his arm around Richie, holds him tight. “I wish I could forget what I did without you. Trade those memories for the ones I don’t have back yet, of us. I wouldn’t mind twenty-odd years of blank slate… forgetting a few things. I was always better with you.”

“I was better with you.” His eyes sting, he kisses Eddie’s shoulder and has to press his mouth there a long moment, hips still moving beyond his control. It’s the feeling of Eddie’s thighs pressed tight around him, and it’s the feel of Eddie’s whole body rolling up to meet his, the arm around him, hand grasping at him, chest pushing up against his, it’s every breath and the slick sound of flesh against flesh, it’s the scent of Eddie, his shampoo and his lotion and his sweat, it’s everything, and it’s so much. “I was so much better with you…”

“Richie…”

“Only worth much of anything with you, but shit, Eds, I think I love myself with you. I really do. Thought it was— thought it was— But I do, when I’m us and I’m ours, then I— I really do, just not half as much as I love you.”

Self-love had always seemed so ‘you’re okay, I’m okay’, so phony, something people made up and then they cried to their friends or their therapists that it was all a sham, and that no one really loved themselves, and the people who did had real problems in the head… but he does. The version of himself that belongs to Eddie, that wants to deserve Eddie, that works hard to be worth Eddie, he can love that Richie, he can love being him. And it’s not that he was ever a big one for self-loathing, either— he simply was, he had good points and bad points and he thought it was probably a wash, or about as good and as bad as most people. He saw things in himself to like and dislike, to be proud of or to work on, but love? Hate? He couldn’t feel so passionately about himself. He was missing too much of himself.

The him he is now, who fought that clown with and for his friends, who spends every day just trying to make Eddie feel loved, that’s a man he can feel something about, more than a vague acceptance. The words come out clumsy, but the words don’t matter, because when they’re like this, Eddie knows his heart. He knows that he does, because he knows Eddie’s.

He falls silent, save the odd grunt or groan, but the praise runs in a loop in his head and he can feel Eddie feeling it, with each desperate kiss that keeps his mouth from saying more. He can feel the way Eddie knows him. When he thinks about how good he feels and how brave and strong he is and how much he loves him, how he’d do anything for him and anything to him, when he pictures Eddie’s body and thinks of which points of interest always pique his, he knows Eddie knows. He knows in the way he kisses back, the way his moans line up with Richie’s thoughts, the way he holds tight… and he knows because he feels Eddie’s adoration right back, hears his unvoiced desires and praises and love.

Eddie… Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, there’s nothing else in the world. Only them, only thoughts that cycle between them so that he could hardly pick his own out from Eddie’s, except for just use your hand, I don’t want to wait, which is definitely Eddie’s, and he does, reaches between them to stroke him off, uses every little trick he knows to make it good.

He comes, all over Eddie’s thighs, and Eddie follows soon after, spattered between their stomachs. Richie doesn’t want to clean up too soon, giving into the primal urge to simply admire his handiwork, white against Eddie’s flushed skin.

“Beautiful.” He sighs.

“Mm.” Eddie takes his hand, even though it’s a mess, and threads their fingers together. “Everything you dreamed?”

“Everything I dreamed.” Richie leans down, and buries his face in Eddie’s underarm— or, rather, under where he no longer has much of an arm. He breathes him in and then sighs out, big snuffling breaths designed to tickle, and Eddie doesn’t even shove at him and tell him he’s disgusting this time, just squirms and giggles.

“Tickles.” He complains, and so Richie has mercy on him, and kisses a line down his ribcage. “Rich… that was… weirdly good for me, actually.”

“Good.” He says, and keeps on kissing until Eddie lets him know it really is too much.

He cleans him up then, and himself. Gets him a glass of water and tilts it gently for him, not because Eddie can’t but because Richie is allowed to. Throws together Eddie’s preferred post-workout yogurt and blueberries and granola for him and spoon-feeds him, and watches him adoringly.

The rest of the afternoon is slow and easy. Richie thanks Eddie about twenty times throughout, and Eddie chuckles fondly and gives him a tug closer or a playful shove back, or he just puts a hand on his knee and squeezes, and gives him a look that’s too knowing by far, flays him open to be known like that, but he wouldn’t trade it.

That evening, after dinner and the late show and brushing their teeth side by side at the double vanity, Richie lays Eddie down, and he kisses over his thighs again. Not to go anywhere this time, just to do, just to feel… just to express what he means when he thanks him, that he had needed something he didn’t know he could ask for and then he asked and he got it and he’s happy. That he loves Eddie’s thighs and their lean corded muscle, that he loves what they mean for his recovery and he also just loves them because they’re beautiful, because they feel good beneath his hands and his lips and pressed tight against other parts of him as well. That when he sees Eddie making coffee wearing nothing but one of Richie’s stolen shirts, he has to fight such an urge to drop to his knees right then and there and leave raspberry pink marks up and down them in the shape of his teeth and his fingerprints. That Eddie is strong and Eddie is graceful and Eddie is sexy and Eddie is Eddie is Eddie.

He settles at last, so that Eddie can curl up against his chest for one last cuddle before they both seek a little real sleep, and he sighs happily at the way Eddie’s hand strokes over him, toys with dark curls of chest hair in an idle kind of way.

“Next time…” Eddie says, and the promise of a next time is just about enough to undo him. “I think I know what I want to do, when you want to do that.”

“Name it. It’s yours. Everything I have is yours.”

“I want to come on your chest.” Eddie taps just twice, over his heart. “Instead of you swallowing it. And then we can shower right after. Could I?”

“Oh, Eds… anything you want.” Richie smiles. “I’ll make a west coast hedonist of you yet, boy… yeah, we’ll have a real nice time.”


End file.
